


First-Name Terms

by Sjukdom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8175649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjukdom/pseuds/Sjukdom
Summary: “I have a deal”, said Oswald, deadly serious. “Either we are on first-name terms or you wear this. The decision is all yours.”





	

The first thing that Oswald saw after he opened his sleepy eyes was Ed’s smile. He was lying on his side facing Oswald, his large hands tucked cozily under his cheek. Oswald blinked and wondered just how long had Ed been observing him sleeping.

“Good morning, Mister Penguin”, Edward said a bit too loud, grinning. Oswald frowned and rubbed his eyes, removing the rest of the sleep from them like an invisible threads of a cobweb. 

“We have discussed this issue before”, murmured Oswald and stretched himself, touching the wall behind their bed with his fingertips and arching his back. He looked back at Ed and met his confused gaze. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, his smile fading a little because of Oswald's unexpected answer.

“What issue?” asked Edward with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

“Stop calling me Mister Penguin, that's ridiculous!” Oswald sat up and looked down upon him disapprovingly. There were better ways to wake up, but it just wasn't this kind of morning, it seemed. “Call me Oswald.”

Ed sighed and wrinkled his nose to rearrange the glasses that wasn't there yet, shook his head and turned to grab them from the bedside table. It took him an unbelievably long time over cleaning them up and putting them on. All the while Ed was thoroughly rubbing the glasses, Oswald sat staring intently at his nape, getting more annoyed with each second. The awkward pause was filled with their breathing and an unpleasant stridor of crystal clear glass being cleaned again and again.

Finally Ed turned to Oswald, his face solemn, lips pressed. Oswald's glare made him back off a bit.

“I’ll make us a breakfast. What would you like, Mister Penguin?”

The last word was swallowed by a surprised gasp as Oswald grabbed Ed by his wrists and pinned him down with a remarkable dexterity. 

“Call. Me. Oswald”, he said, squeezing his fingers tighter around Ed’s wrists with each word. Oswald stared right into his eyes, brooding above him like a tiny wild-haired Nemesis. 

Edward swallowed and said nothing. He stuck out his bottom lip, expressing himself clearly without any words.

Oswald cocked his head to one side and let go of Ed's wrist, still holding the other one firmly. He poked Edward’s chest with his index finger demandingly.

“Call me by name. Now. You know what comes next?”

Ed shifted himself uneasily under Oswald, but remained silent. Oswald sighed dramatically and slid his finger over Ed's chest towards his armpit with a grim slowness. This time Edward attempted to struggle himself free, but Oswald again was faster and straddled him, squeezing his hips tightly with his knees. His fingers began dancing wildly up and down Ed’s side as he tickled him, mercilessly and effectively, making Ed burst with laughter almost immediately. He gave up on trying to push Oswald away, every bit of his capacity to struggle washed away with tears of laughter and drowned in the sound of it, already hysterical by now.

“How do you call me?” asked Oswald breathlessly, slowing down but not stopping the torture completely. Ed writhed under him, his face red, his so carefully cleaned glasses missing somewhere between bedlinen, his hair disheveled. He tried to say something, but giggled and inhaled some air instead, pressing his arm to his side to protect his armpit.

“M-mister Penguin”, groaned Ed at last, blinking away the tears. He couldn't see clearly without glasses, but by this time he knew perfectly well how Oswald's half-shocked, half-angry face looked like. Secretly it was one of Ed's most favorite.

“You brought it upon yourself”, Oswald announced in a voice of a medieval prophet and quickly adjusted his position to reach Ed’s naked foot and bring his ticklish hell to a whole new level. 

When Ed could laugh and kick and wriggle no more and was just lying limply, letting out an occasional chuckle, Oswald grew fed up with the tease and remembered something about breakfast. For cautious reasons Edward got out of bed and asked again from a safe distance:

“So what would you like?” he paused thoughtfully, feeling himself an actor in a dramatic act. “Mister Penguin?”

This time he was faster and managed to get out and close the door behind him just before another attack of resentful Oswald. He leaned on the door, catching his breath in one happy inhale.

“Let me out!” Oswald yelled from behind the door and banged his fist on it a few times. Ed felt the vibration caused by the force of these bangs going down his spine.

“I’ll make you pancakes!” yelled Ed back, holding the door shut a moment longer before retrieving into the safe harbor of his kitchen, smiling to himself.

Grumpy Oswald awaited him, sitting on the edge of their bed, his hands crossed. Eventually he gave up on chasing Edward, who was already wrapped up in cooking activities. Pancakes could do miracles.

***

The day had been cold and they had spent too much time outside, moving from one place to another. The cold found a way into their bodies and dwelt there long after they came home and got into their bed. The wetness of a hot shower felt like a condensation covering their freezing bodies. They cuddled up in an attempt to warm each other, skin to skin, their breath mixing as they blew over their red hands and cheeks and soon their activities became something more than just a way to get some warmth.

At least, they certainly stopped feeling cold.

Ed was well-aware of how Oswald acted, when his climax was near, how he clutched at his hair and tensed up and drew the deep breath before finally letting it out with a low grunt. So now, moments before it was to come, he asked Oswald playfully:

“Are you already done, Mis-”, the final syllable turned into a long awkward hiss as the seriousness of the mistake Edward had made dawned on him. Oswald froze, as if all the cold was suddenly back into him, turning his living hot body into an ice monument.

“Are you kidding me or what?” Oswald sat up in the bed, letting Ed's hands slip off him. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but by the tone of his voice Oswald was outraged. “You're going to call me that even now?”

Ed’s usually brilliant brain was ticking and whirring at full speed, but still it failed to provide him with a suitable answer.

“Say my name”, said Oswald in a dangerously low voice. “If you think that it's too intimate, remember what you were doing a moment ago and think again.”

It was hard to tell in the darkness and Ed said absolutely nothing. Oswald felt his blood that was feeling like molten snow not so long ago boiling in his veins, his cheeks burning. He whirled upward and that movement nearly made him fall. 

“Well then”, he felt Ed's hands touching him to help him regain his balance (or drag him back into the bed) and pushed them away. “If I’m still Mister Penguin to you, then it won't be right if we share a bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“But you're still-” Ed tried to say and failed at expressing his thoughts again. The severity of Oswald's reaction frightened him a bit. They had never used any names during lovemaking before and it was obviously for good. Edward was very angry at himself for the poor decision he stupidly made.

Oswald adjusted his pajamas and tried to look dignified despite his current state. The darkness was of great help here.

“Don't you worry, I can deal with it myself”, he said and headed out of the bedroom, discovering that the dignified walk was much more harder to maintain.

Ed made sure that Oswald made himself comfortable on the couch, listening to his footsteps and laid back, bitterly disappointed with himself.

***

When Oswald came home that early evening, he went straight to Ed without even taking off his coat. Slightly alarmed, Edward noticed the determined look on his face and a mysterious package he was carrying casually. Oswald stopped abruptly before him and shoved the package into Ed’s hands. He touched it cautiously, feeling something soft inside.

“I have a deal”, said Oswald, deadly serious. “Either we are on first-name terms or you wear this. The decision is all yours.”

Edward stared at him, trying to guess what he was up to, but failed to see anything behind Oswald's earnest expression. He turned his attention to the package and started to unwrap it carefully. Oswald bit his lip, suppressing a laugh, when Edward took the thing he had gave him and lifted it, staring at it with a complex expression of dread and surprise.

“Are you serious?” Ed lifted it even higher as if he wanted to display it to an unaware person - a dark purple sweater, which would have been rather nice if not for the giant caption “Oswald's“ on its front. Oswald nodded encouragingly.

“I certainly am. You will be looking marvelous wearing it. Everyone’s eyes will be on you”, he stopped and looked up thoughtfully. “Or you will just say my name and wear it only at home from time to time. What do you choose?”

Ed lowered his hands and began to fold the sweater, smoothing out the delicate wool fabric. Oswald expected him to keep silent as usual, but he said softly:

“I’m not calling you by name not because I don't want to, not because I want to make fun of you. I just... like to call you Mister Penguin. It sounds respectful and it's no more a nasty nickname. More like a title. I like that difference, too. I like that I was the first to put this meaning into it.”

Edward stroked the letter “W” with his thumb and looked up.

“And I like the things you do when I refuse to call you by name. Well, liked until yesterday”, he breathed in like a swimmer before a dive. “Oswald, I’m sorry. I should have stopped doing it even before that.”

“Oh”, Oswald let out a small sound. His name had been pronounced in various ways, with hatred, with distaste, with fear, with sadness, with anger, but it was rarely said with love. And Edward had said it exactly like that. It didn't feel weird to hear someone saying out his name gently and lovingly, it didn't feel weird because it was Ed who was saying it. It just felt unusual. He had never had enough time to get used to it. “Well. It's okay. Thank you.”

The last two words turned into a whisper. Ed nodded, acknowledging them and picked at the sweater he was still holding on his knees.

“Should I really wear it at home?” he asked hopefully. Oswald visibly relaxed and smiled.

“Why not? Try it on first.”

“I don't think it will look good with these”, Ed indicated the clothes he was wearing, but Oswald dismissed it with a wave.

“Who said that you’ll need anything else at home?” he asked, grinning smugly. Ed returned him a tight smile. Surely, he liked these things. They were rather pleasant, even the ones that involved tickling. And imaginative. 

But now it seemed that Ed had severely underrated Oswald's imagination. The sweater was the best proof of that.

“Oswald”, mumbled Ed under his nose, catching the glimpse of himself in the mirror before being dragged into the bedroom by the overexcited owner of the name.


End file.
